Davyss looked more stricken, if such a thing was possible. “My mother is not caring for them, is she?” he demanded. “The woman can barely walk. I do not want her carrying around a newborn infant.”
The soldier shook his head. “Lady Lucy and Lady Frances have care of the infants. They have also hired a wet-nurse from town. Your boys are well taken care of, my lord, I assure you.”
That seemed to ease Davyss somewhat but he was still horribly pale. He continued to clutch the man’s arm as if the soldier was some odd link to everything back at Norwich. He didn’t want to let him go.
“Do…,” he began again in a whisper. “Do the boys have names?”
A faint smile crossed the soldier’s weary lips. “Your wife has named them Drake Davyss and Devon Grayson,” he replied. “Your mother says they are the image of your father but I have heard tale that they are fair like your wife.”
That was all Davyss could take; he closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the pouring rain. Hugh, concerned, tugged on his brother and got him moving. The soldier followed because Davyss couldn’t seem to let go of him. Together, the three of them traveled to the livery area of the encampment where Andrew, Nik, Philip and Edmund already had the chargers saddled and about five hundred men preparing to move out for Norwich. It was Hugh who ran to Henry and Edward to tell them what had happened.
Henry let Davyss go without question.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
On the morningof the sixth day since leaving Evesham, the massive white block of Norwich Castle’s keep came into view.
Davyss had pushed his men hard for the long trek back to Norwich. The column had made around thirty-five miles a day before stopping only to rest the horses and then proceeding on. Davyss seemed to have no sense of exhaustion although his men certainly did. After weeks of traveling and fighting, they were all deeply exhausted but pushed on for Davyss’ sake. They knew what was at stake and not one man disagreed with him. So they rode on, fighting the intermittent thunderstorms and sometimes stifling moist heat, until the great keep of Norwich was finally sighted on the horizon.
Once Davyss caught sight of it, he spurred his charger into a thundering gallop. Nothing on this earth was going to keep him from Devereux any longer and he rode the already-exhausted horse into Norwich’s double-baileys, leaping off the horse when he reached the keep and taking the steps two at a time. He burst into the soldier’s hall only to be met by Lollardly.
The old priest threw his arms around him. “Davyss, boy,” he squeezed him and let him go. “We saw your army on the horizon. Praise God that you are safe.”
Davyss grabbed the old man by the arms, his fingers biting into the flesh. “Devereux,” he demanded. “What happened? Where is she?”
Lollardly could see how edgy Davyss was. He struggled to calm him. “Listen to me,” he gripped him. “You must calm yourself or you will do her no good. Do you hear me?”
Davyss shook him so hard that he nearly snapped the man’s neck. “Enough,” he roared, moving for the stairs that led to the upper chambers of the keep. “Tell me how she is. What happened to her?”
Lollardly was trying to keep the man from bolting up the stairs. “Davyss, I cannot tell you all that I must if you are running up those stairs,” he yanked on his arm. “Stop a moment and listen to me. It is important.”
Davyss heard the plea through his desperate haze and he came to an unsteady halt, facing the man. “What is it, then?”
Lollardly knew he would only have his attention for a short amount of time before he was demanding to see his wife again, so he spoke quickly. “Your wife went into labor two weeks early,” he lowered his voice. “She labored for two days to bring forth your enormous children, Davyss, so much so that I believed I was going to have to cut into her to remove them. The physic from Great Yarmouth agreed with me. But finally, she gave birth to your first son and we were shocked to realize that there were two. Never did I feel two children when I examined her; only one. Your wife was so weak already by the time the first boy was born that it was nearly impossible for her to gather the strength to birth the second child. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”
Davyss’ expression was wrought with horror. “Dear God,” he breathed. “What happened?”
Lollardly sighed heavily, his manner turning gentle. “Your second son was born feet-first,” he murmured. “Your wife did not have any strength left to push so we were forced to… well, we had to pull the child out by his feet, Davyss. It was the only way. Then we could not detach the nourishment sack from her body and she bled profusely until we were able to pull it free. She lost a great deal of blood and the difficult birth seriously injured her.”
By this time, Davyss’ hand was at his mouth as if to hold in the gasps of horror. The hazel eyes filled with tears. “How is she now?”
Lollardly lifted his shoulders. “She lives,” he said honestly. “But she has not recovered. All she does is sleep. She barely eats. If she does not start showing more improvement soon, I am afraid we… well, we may lose her.”
Davyss blinked and the tears rolled down his cheeks, just as quickly wiped away. He took a deep breath, digesting Lollardly’s words, struggling to acclimate himself to the situation.
“May I see her?” he whispered.
Lollardly simply nodded. He followed Davyss up the stairs to the fourth floor. As Davyss approached, he could hear babies crying and his tears returned en force. As he stood at the top of the stairs, gazing into the chamber where both of his lusty sons were being tended, he sobbed deeply.
Lollardly stood behind him, his hand on Davyss’ shoulder as the man observed the activity of the room. It was a smaller chamber with a large bed in it, and Frances sat on the bed changing the swaddling of one twin while Lucy paced the floor with the second twin. Both boys were screaming at the top of their lungs and Lucy was attempting desperately to calm the baby in her arms until she saw Davyss.
The surprise on her face turned to joy before immediately turning to distress. The enormous man was filthy and exhausted as he stood at the top of the stairs, tears running down his face and dripping onto his dirty tunic. Lucy went to him.
“Davyss,” she was torn between being very glad to see him and deeply concerned as to why he was crying. She could see that he was looking at the baby in her arms and her focus turned to the child. “This is your son, Drake. Your mother swears that he looks just like your father.”
Davyss gazed down at the baby, struggling to stop his sobs. As Lucy unwrapped the boy so he could get a better look, his sobs turned into weepy laughter at the vigorously screaming baby. He was absolutely furious. Davyss reached out a tentative finger, pushing it into a waving hand and being rewarded when the infant gripped him tightly.
“He is very strong,” he commented, feeling the warmth of joy wash over him as he gazed into the little face. “But why is he so angry?”
